She was fighting a losing battle—on two fronts.
“Chief?” Caro’s voice was small.
Jen looked at her. Only twenty-six. Pink t-shirt clashing with orange coveralls. Scared out of her mind and still standing.
“It’s going to be okay, Caro.” The lie came out firm enough to believe.
Jen turned back to the diagnostic screen. The elegant weapon management system she’d helped design. The one she’d spent eighteen months maintaining, protecting, keeping operational.
A thought crystallized—clear and inevitable. “I can stop trying to lock it down.”
Wyatt turned. “What?”
“They can undo anything I do electronically.” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Reset it. Override it. Reboot it.” She pulled up the core control interface. “But they can’t undo physical damage.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You want to break it.”
“I’m going to break it so badly no one can fix it tonight.” Her hands settled on the console. “Fry the boards. Corrupt the firmware. Ruin the hydraulic pressure regulators. Turn the entire system into scrap metal.” She looked up at him. “And then we get out.”
Caro’s eyes went wide. “Chief—that’s… you were part of designing this system. You keep it running?—”
Jen stared at the screen.
Clive had taken credit for her breakthrough and burned her reputation so thoroughly this exile had been her only option—babysitting weapons systems on a platform no one cared about, proving herself to an audience of zero.
Seven had been her penance—eighteen months proving she could still do the work even if no one was watching. And now she was going to destroy it.
Her throat tightened. Her hands curled into fists.
“I’m choosing to kill it,” she said quietly. “To save lives.”
“Jen—” Wyatt crossed the room to her, urgency in his stride.
“If they get those missiles, millions of people die.” She didn’t look at him. “Cities. Families. People who don’t even know Seven exists.” Jen forced herself to breathe. “No one can break it harder than I can, and I’m going to wreck it so completely it’ll take months to rebuild.”
Wyatt stood close enough that his arm bumped hers. He didn’t speak or try to talk her out of it, or tell her it would beokay. He just stood there, solid and silent, letting the decision be hers.
When she glanced at him, there was a rawness behind his eyes. It wasn’t pity, he knew better than that. It was closer to grief—as if he understood exactly what she was about to sacrifice.
“Do it,” he said quietly.
She stared at the keyboard. Her fingers refused to move.
Wyatt’s hand settled on the back of her neck. Warm. Sure. Not pushing. Just there.
She breathed in. Breathed out.
And typed the first command.
HYDRAULIC PRESSURE OVERRIDE: MAX LOAD.
A warning flashed.
UNSAFE PARAMETERS.
She confirmed it.
The deck shuddered beneath their feet as the hydraulics surged beyond tolerance, metal groaning under the strain.
